The Night the Waves Bled

Its a Friday. You’re crazy about fridays. But really you’re more crazy for the outing you’ve set your mind to but really it’s for the drinks at happy hour.  It’s funny, cause we always attempt to make it for happy hour and yet, you fool, you leave your blow dryer plugged in. there. It’s under the sink- . Who left this here? I always leave these on the counter. There. Ugh, really? You left the champagne open, dumbass. Just taste it, okay. It’s okay. She’s still bubbly, like your chest right now, bubbling, as the fizz slowly severs your high wave, funny, who the  left the door open? UGH no no I’ll close it, ow… I just jabbed my toe onto the door. But on the brink of disaster, you laugh. The wave of bubble’s stopped though, and your Friday has just begun,  with the red wave of toe blood. Laugh.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace